


How to Lose a Fight

by Pequod (avanc)



Category: Eisbrecher, Rammstein
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avanc/pseuds/Pequod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are good at starting fights, others at finishing them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Till's penchant for picking pseudo-fights is well documented, as is the fact that you shouldn't call Alexx "Checker" any more.
> 
> No harm intended, this is a work of fiction about public personas and is not meant to be read as insight or assumption into how real people act in their own private lives. 
> 
> Homoerotic undertones if you squint. D/s if you choose to interpret it that way. Or not, if you choose to interpret it the other way.
> 
> For S and DT wherever you are.
> 
> ~

“Hey, aren't you Der Checker?” Alexx winced at the nickname, turned, and was confronted by a pretty brunette coming down the corridor.

“That's me.” He offered his hand. “Call me Alexx. And you are?”

“I'm Khira. Are you here to see a show?”

“I'm here to play one! Eisbrecher, baby!” Alexx flashed his widest, most charming grin.

“I've heard your music on the radio. You guys are pretty good,” said Pretty Brunette Khira. She had huge, blue doe eyes and an all access VIP pass around her neck.

Alexx leaned one shoulder casually against the wall and bent one knee to drop himself closer to eye level and said, with a grin that acknowledged the campiness of the line, “So what brings a nice girl like you to a metal festival like this?”

“Her father.” Richard Kruspe from Rammstein was suddenly standing very close. Till Lindemann was right behind him. Somehow, Alexx hadn't seen them coming. “Don't creep on my kid.”

Khira blushed. “He wasn't being creepy.”

“Not for long!” Richard said. “Musicians are bad news, punkin'. How many times I gotta tell you?”

“Actually,” said Alexx, “He's got a point there. Thank goodness I'm just a singer.”

Till lightly plucked the girl's pass up and flipped it over to show Alexx her name and photo on the back side. The surname was 'Lindemann'. Till said in a mild voice, “Don't make me slap you down, Checker. Go check out someone else.”

“Uh oh,” said Khira. “It was nice meeting you, Alexx.” Her smile was amazing and she was way, way too young for Alexx's tastes. “I'm looking forward to watching your set,” she said sweetly, and looped her arm through Richard's and towed him away.

Alexx raised an eyebrow and turned to Till, “Slap me, huh? What, and then a pillow fight?”

“No, man. You slap until somebody surrenders.” Till wasn't as tall as Alexx, but he was all muscle and gorilla arms. Alexx glanced around for an exit, read the signs taped on the wall for the first time and realized he was standing between Rammstein's green room and dressing room doors, and felt that it was an awkward place to be. The dressing room door opened with fateful timing, and Paul, the other Rammstein guitarist, emerged.

Paul looked at them both, smirked at the tension, and simply said, “I heard that. It's not a game for pussies. Till loves this shit. Don't let him reel you in.”

Till laughed. He had sharp eyeteeth.

“What, like this?” Alexx flailed both hands in front of him. It was awkward enough that he'd been called out for hitting up the wrong girl, but now it felt like Rammstein as a group were somehow ganging up on him.

“Nah, you put one hand behind your back, you slap with the other hand, and you take turns until someone can't take any more. It's ugly. Don't do it,” said Paul. He winked at Till, or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

Till ducked his head and his dark fringe fell into his eyes.

Annoyance bubbled up and ruined Alexx's good judgment. “No, no. Show me this vicious bitch-slapping I'm getting.”

Paul, assuming control of the situation, directed them both to stand facing each other, an arm's length apart, left hands behind their backs. “Pick a hand. Are you right handed? OK, the right. You hit, then he hits, and you take turns until one of you can't take any more. No punching, no back-handing, and you can only hit once per turn. When you want out, you raise a finger in the air like so,” Paul demonstrated by pointing at the ceiling.

Alexx took off his glasses. “That's it? Those are the rules?”

Till just smiled and pushed his hair out of his face.

Paul said, “What, you need more rules than that? Take the first hit.”

They stood there. Looking at each other. “What,” said Alexx. “I'm supposed to hit him while he's just...standing there? This is dumb-”

Till slapped him. The sound of it echoed a little in the close corridor, and Paul chuckled.

“OH,” said Alexx. His cheek went numb from the impact for a split second and then the burn set in. He slapped back.

Till's fringe tumbled into his face again and he immediately returned the slap hard enough to snap Alexx's head to the side.

Alexx hit out in retaliation and instantly felt guilty, but Till returned it again without a flinch.

It hurt.

Alexx drew himself up to his full height and turned his ballcap around backward, took a breath, and delivered a hard crack that left a visible red hand print on Till's cheek.

“Oh, God,” muttered Paul. He stuck his head into the dressing room. “Flake, come out here!”

Till returned another resounding smack. Through blurry vision, determined to keep taking his turn, Alexx saw Till's total lack of hesitance and the restraint that was still present. Till wasn't hitting as hard as he could and was nowhere near losing control.

Alexx hit him again, harder than before, and Till rocked to the side; but he just widened his stance and hit back. Alexx reeled from the impact.

“Shit!” said Flake, emerging from the dressing room with a magazine still in his hand.

“I think Till may have met his match,” said Paul.

Without a word, Alexx let fly again, a smooth swing from the shoulder. Till staggered, came up, and hit back. Hard. It was breathtaking. Alexx felt his balance jerked off center and nearly went down. Flailing out, he caught himself against the wall. The world narrowed to Till's pale, grey eyes under the flickering fluorescent lights of the corridor. Dimly hearing Flake saying that enough was enough, Alexx lashed out. No way was he going to lose. He put his whole body into it and Till stumbled and reeled into a nearby flight case before righting himself, blood smearing across his face from a split lip. Surely that was the end, but Till didn't signal for a stop.

“Stop! Enough!” Flake was waving his arms for a time out, magazine pages flapping, but Till just spat out a mouthful of blood and took his place again. His lips quirked in a wry smile, and then his hand came up too fast to track. His hands were square and hard – workman's hands - and the impact was intense. Alexx's head was pounding, his face burned, and he was not going to give in first. He felt a trickle of blood from his nose run down and itch in his beard and he scrubbed at it with the back of his hand.

Somewhere, faint and distant in the background, Paul was swearing. Stage hands were gathering to watch. They traded a few more vicious slaps; but Till still looked pleasantly entertained. His expression, the crinkle of amusement around his eyes, wasn't suited to a fight. It rankled on Alexx until he felt a fresh flow of blood make it down to the corner of his mouth. The maddening tickle of it was somehow more sensation than he could stand. Rage blew out of control and he hit out as hard as he could.

Till staggered back against the wall. Blood ran in rivulets down his chin, dripping on his shirt and splattering the floor. He again resumed his stance, not defiant, but confident, and made eye contact. Pupils blown, gasping a little, he didn't even try to wipe the blood away. His return smack was light. Playful. “Your turn.” He smiled – it was a beatific little flash across his face - and in that instant Alexx understood. He stepped in, looming over Till, shoulders squared, and let fly again. Till staggered and went down to one knee, let out a yowl of pain and bared bloody teeth. He still didn't signal to stop, though, and his refusal to just submit was even more fuel on the fire and Alexx backhanded him once, twice, so hard he fell over backward. Alexx stepped over him, bent down and grabbed a fistful of Till's shirt to haul him up on his knees, and slammed home a punch.

“STOP!” Flake was screaming. “STOP IT! ENOUGH!” He shoved his way between them and the sheer ridiculousness of his thin limbs holding off either one of them made Alexx take a step back. He was gasping, panting, blood pounding through him so hard that his vision blurred.

Flake offered Till a hand and helped him to his feet. There was a crowd. Till frowned at them. They frowned at Alexx. “We'll finish this inside,” said Till.

Alexx dove after him into the dressing room, away from the ruckus building around them. As soon as the door shut, he was in Till's face. “What the fuck was that?”

“Hit me,” Till said.

“The fuck?” Alexx's nose was inches from Till's as he glared down into his eyes. “The fuck kind of sick fuck are you?”

Till wouldn't answer. He spit out a mouthful of blood.

“FUCK! …just... FUCK!” Alexx could feel the veins standing out on his head. He lunged away and slammed his hand against the cinderblock wall over and over, screaming out a “FUCK!” with each hit, until the rage burned itself out. Till just stood there, looking at him and drooling blood. He seemed to be waiting for something. There seemed to be nothing to clean up with, so Alexx pulled his tee-shirt off, wadded it up, and pressed it to the split lip. He grabbed Till's hand and made him hold the compress himself, shoved him to sit down on the sofa, and let out another loud “FUCK!” for good measure. He was pacing and running one hand over his scalp in agitation when Paul and Flake came in.

“Ice,” said Paul, “From catering.” He set a repurposed wastebasket filled with ice on the coffee table and handed them each ice in a plastic bag. “You're both assholes.”

“Towels,” said Flake, and threw a few at them.

“Got all your teeth?” Paul asked.

Till mumbled something unintelligible and nodded.

“We're going to lunch,” said Flake. “'If you gaze into the abyss'...” he waved his hand in an etcetera motion. “Assholes.” They went out and the door banged shut behind them.

Till put his bag of ice on his knee and let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. “Did I hurt you?” he said through the shirt.

The question seemed out of place and Alexx wasn't sure how to answer it. He went into the bathroom, clicked the light on, and glared at himself in the mirror. His cheek and jaw were already darkening and swelling and there would be a black eye later. There was blood crusting up under his nose and in his beard. His rage had departed as quickly as it had come and left him exhausted. Wearily, he turned on the tap and watched the water run. There was blood all over his hands and he watched it diluting into pinkish water and swirling down the drain. Blood was clotting in the deep grooves of his ring and wouldn't rinse out completely. It was revolting. He barely made it in a sudden lunge for the toilet. Retching, groaning, he brought up breakfast until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Rinsing his mouth, he heaved again over the sink. He felt hollowed out. It took all he had left just to wobble out of the bathroom on rubbery legs. Till hadn't moved. Alexx picked up his bag of ice and lowered himself carefully onto the sofa. His head hurt, his face hurt, his hand hurt, and his back was signaling that sheer agony was coming on fast. He tried to close his eyes gently to avoid jarring anything.

The door slammed open again, and Schneider, Rammstein's drummer, breezed in. He stopped short at the sight of the two of them on the sofa and let out a hoot of laughter. “Wow!” He stooped and pulled two water bottles out of the mini fridge, opened them both, and set them down on the little coffee table. “You two got fucked up good.” He peered at Alexx. “Don't I know you?”

“Alexx Wesselsky.” Alexx squinted against the light and gingerly moved his bag of ice from eye to cheek so he could look at Schneider. He could feel himself trembling, and the more he tried to control it the worse it became.

“That's it! Der Checker! Eisbrecher, right?”

“Uh huh. Gesichtbrecher now.”

“Ha!” Schneider leaned in, suddenly serious as he searched for damage. He touched the sides of Alexx's nose carefully. “That making any popping noises?”

“No...”

“Good, no cracked cartilage.” Alexx jerked in surprise when Schneider leaned in and said, almost inaudibly, “He wanted you to hurt him.”

To his utter horror, Alexx could feel tears welling up and closed his eyes to hold them in.

“Okay?”

Alexx put a shaky hand over his face. “I threw up,” he mumbled.

“So did I,” said Schneider, cryptically. “You shouldn't put ice right on your skin like that.” He went into the bathroom and came back with a wet hand-towel, which he wrapped around the bag. “Hey, this probably isn't the best time, but there's this Audi I've been thinking about buying and I could really use an expert opinion, you know, if...” He broke off when Alexx raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Yeah, um, maybe I'll ask you some other time.”

Till stirred at the other end of the sofa. “Aren't you worried about my nose?” He held out his unwrapped ice bag to show that it too needed a wrapper.

“No.” Schneider's thin lips were set in a disapproving line.

“I've never hit anyone like that before,” Alexx mumbled.

“How'd it feel?” Schneider shot him an unreadable look and excused himself from the room.

Till slid over next to him and offered him a make-up handshake, then hooked him around the neck and pulled him into a warm abrazo. There was no bad blood there, and Alexx slumped back against the cushions and closed his eyes. He woke later to Till carefully tucking a jacket around him for a blanket.

“Sorry about your shirt,” Till mumbled. “I thought you might want to borrow something.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

The jacket, to Alexx's bemusement, said “Sexy as Hell” across the back. When he heard the shower turn on, Alexx put the jacket on inside-out and left.


	2. The Middle

“I'd prefer not to.”

“Just for a little while,” Paul wheedled, “And then you can come back to the hotel and be boring.”

“We can get you some coke,” Schneider offered, his face a display of helpfulness. “That might cheer you up.”

“No coke.” Till scowled.

“Pot, then?” said Paul. Till sighed and Paul tried again, “It'll be fun. Just... come with us. We already have passes from the promoter and we can just stand in the pit and you won't have to talk to anyone...or hit anyone.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, “No muss, no fuss. COME ON. ”

Till went to shut him up.

The club was intimate and the Eisbrecher show was sold out. They slipped in the back door to avoid the line queuing out front, hooked their passes onto their belts, and grabbed drinks at the bar that ran down one side of the floor. Sound check was just finishing. Noel hopped off the stage and did a friendly round of shots and backslapping with them, and then vanished into the back to change his clothes. Alexx, perhaps mindful of the last time he'd bumped into Rammstein, was nowhere to be seen.

Till claimed a bar stool, ordered a beer and tequila, and hung back as Paul and Schneider made their way to the side of the stage to watch from the tiny pit. He'd regretted coming out, but now that he was seated at the bar he might as well have a few drinks and look at the girls who were trickling in. He didn't stir from his seat when the band took the stage and the floor filled up, though he had the gravitas to look indignant when Alexx pointed a riding crop at him from the stage. With a pleasant buzz on and a decent seat, he was privately not not-enjoying himself, although Paul would never have gotten him to confess to it.

“Are you ready for some motherfucking Volksmuzik?” The booming question jolted Till out of a comfortable buzz. 

On stage, Alexx had swapped his waistcoat for a knitted cardigan and donned a Tyrolean hat. Casting about for floor space and finding none he bent to shout something into security's ear, and a moment later he stepped on the shoulders of security staff, windmilling his arms wildly to keep his balance, and leapt from there onto the bar top. The crowd roared approval. The press of people migrated from the front to the bar along with Alexx, and suddenly there was a crush around Till and and someone's flailing arm caught him across the ear. 

Alexx strutted down the bar and stopped in front of Till. His knee-high boots were at eye level and Till could pick out the strong smell of sweat-soaked leather despite the stale air in the club. He leaned back and looked up at Alexx towering over him.

Alexx did a couple of marching steps, swinging his arms in an exaggerated parody of a soldier, and said into the mic, “You know, Eisbrecher, we're not really a Wehrmacht, everybody-march-in-line sort of band. And we don't play with fire.” He bared his teeth. “We're just a plain old rock band.” He took a deep breath, bent down, and growled right in Till's face, “This. Is. Deutsch. That is right, yo!” 

Till rolled his eyes, sank his shot, and peered around Alexx's legs to wave at the bartender for another. Alexx marched off down the bar top, oblivious to the drinks he was knocking over, and people hastily pulled their bottles and glasses out of his way.

With the final verse, the knee-high boots came back and stopped near Till again. Alexx launched into a flailing dance, kicking on the beat with glee. One giant foot caught Till's fresh shot of tequila and sent it flying, and Till blocked a backswing with a hasty forearm as the mob of people around him let out a roar of laughter. Undeterred, Alexx planted both feet, one on the remains of Till's cocktail napkin, and launched into the refrain. The bar stools were bolted to the floor and Till was trapped in place. Looking up just gave him a very personal view of Alexx's crotch. There was no need for two belts to hold his trousers up; but nevertheless there was a second belt, slung low on Alexx's hips. It boasted a massive buckle cast in the shape of a razor blade, glinting in the low light. Farther up, the only skin visible was the span of a hairy forearm between his rolled up shirt sleeves and the heavy, leather cuffs around his wrists. Even his hands were hidden in black gloves. As the song ended, he plucked the hat off his own head and leaned down to drop it on Till's. 

“You spilled my drink.” Till said it quietly under the roar of the crowd, crossed his arms, and kept his face blank. It wouldn't do at all to laugh.

Crouching down into an undignified squat, Alexx peered into Till's face. His dark eyes glittered in the low light as he held Till's gaze for a long moment. He raised one eyebrow, but got no response. Till simply removed the hat and put it back on Alexx's head without a word. Flashing him a broad grin, Alexx made his way back to the stage, the crowd shifting with him. 

Till found himself amused instead of apathetic. He wriggled off the bar stool and bulled his way to the front near the corner of the stage, where Paul and Schneider stood in the tiny pit between stage and crowd. The band had a quick huddle in front of the drum set, and then, laughing, Alexx advised the crowd that there was a set list change. When it became clear that Alexx was going to direct most of “Leider” directly at him, Till decided that the best way to preserve his dignity was simply to lean against the crowd barrier and cross his arms. No matter how expressionless he kept his face, Alexx's dark eyes still twinkled with humor, daring him to react. 

When the song ended, Alexx was ceremoniously handed a bottle of Jack Daniels. Eisbrecher passed the bottle around, and then Alexx knelt at the corner of the stage, mic in one hand, whiskey in the other, and waggled the bottle enticingly at Till. “Hold this?” Reluctantly, Till took it and Alexx hopped down into the pit. Eyeing him, Till used his shirt corner to wipe the bottle, getting an appreciative “Oooh” from the crowd, and then he took a hit and passed the bottle back. Alexx took another slug, his whole body thrown back and the bottle straight up in the air, and gave it back. “I just need you hold onto it for a moment.” He switched the mic off and held it out. “This too.” Confused, expecting a public punch in the face, Till took it. With no warning, Alexx seized Till's head in both hands and planted a smooch on him. His button-down was soaked with sweat, and it leached stickily into Till's tee shirt as he pressed close. Till backpedaled, but his hands were full and there was nowhere to go. Paul and Schneider were laughing so hard that they were half collapsed against each other. Alexx broke away and took his mic back to quip, “Usually they don't struggle this much,” to the crowd, and took another slug from the bottle. Whiskey shined on his lips, and he was laughing along with everyone else, and suddenly Till was annoyed that he'd been beaten at someone else's game. Grabbing Alexx by the belt with one hand, he got him by the back of the neck with the other and smashed their mouths together again hard enough to hurt, and he felt Alexx let out a muffled “Ow!” in protest. Till shoved him away again and slapped him hard on the ass. 

“Get back up there and finish your set.”

Alexx spoke into the mic, “If there are any hot ladies in here tonight, why don't you ever want to do that with me?” There was a round of hoots and cat calls. “Any,” he dropped his voice to a rumbling bass, “hot ladies,” and then laughed, “who want to try that, you just let me know. Okay? Okay!” He clambered back up on the stage to shrieks and whistles, and struggled out of his clinging shirt. More shrieks and howls came from the audience and a bra was tossed onstage. Alexx scooped it up and draped it on the mic stand even as he shot his guests in the pit an easy grin.

Till suddenly needed air. There was a tightness growing in his chest, which he decided was from the packed atmosphere of the club. The band launched into the next song of the set and he turned to Paul and Schneider. “I'm going back to the hotel.”


	3. The Beginning

Alexx wasn't sure if lunch with Till was the best idea, but he showed up anyway. The address Till had texted him turned out to be a sprawling farmhouse. Not the sort of thing he'd have expected. A battered Range Rover, with dents and scratches, was in the carport. Alexx looked it over. “That. THAT? That's what you drive.” His own 370Z, freshly waxed, looked ostentatious on the mole-hillocked grass where he'd parked.

Till gave an innocent shrug. “What am I supposed to drive?”

There was no good answer to that. “How you feel about the sound of, say, a Ferrari engine?” 

Another shrug. Till stood, mild and unassuming in a faded, black fisherman's sweater and old fatigues next to his equally unassuming 4x4. He seemed smaller than he had before. Alexx put out a hand on a sudden impulse to touch the cheek he'd hit so hard, and immediately snatched it back. Till looked at him from hooded eyes. “The bruises healed up well,” Alexx said, as an excuse. 

Till skipped the subject entirely and simply said, “Want coffee?” His house was clean, if dusty in places. He'd obviously recently gotten home from the road and there was still an unpacked grocery bag on the kitchen counter. Coffee was bubbling softly in an old-fashioned percolator on the stove top and it tasted perfect. Till pulled a spice cake out of the pie safe and cut two sizable chunks without asking. 

“How do you come home from tour and already have homemade cake?” Alexx was impressed. “I come home to moldy bread and dirty laundry.” 

“My daughter checks on the house when I'm gone. She made food and left it for me.” Till smiled, full, genuine. “She's a good kid. I moved out here to be closer to her when I'm home.”

“You have children?” It was small talk, but it had opened something up in Till that Alexx hadn't seen yet.

“Yup.”

“You and Richard, your kids are older than I thought they'd be.”

“Yeah, well, I'm older than I thought I'd be.”

“So.” Alexx ate an enormous bite of cake and stretched luxuriously, his long legs sticking all the way out under the other side of the kitchen table, and then broached the subject. “So, what's the deal with you picking that fight?”

Till pushed a bite of cake around his plate. “Khira is almost my own daughter. You hit on her.” He shrugged. “What's there to say?”

“You picked a fight.” Alexx drained his coffee cup. “And I was just flirting for fun. It was harmless and we both knew it.”

Till's mouth twisted in a wry expression, much as it had when he'd instigated the fight in the first place. He scooped up Alexx's coffee cup and refilled it in silence. He refilled the little cream pitcher for the table too. 

Realizing he wasn't going to get answers, or an apology, Alexx forged on. Dropping his voice to the lowest rumble he could manage, he said, “You used me.”

Till put the fresh cream pitcher and the coffee on the table with measured movements and sat down again. 

“The person I became in that moment was someone I loathed.” Alexx had never had trouble filling silences. “I wish I hadn't let it happen. I wish I hadn't lost control. If I had known ahead of time, I wouldn't have let you hook me into it. And don't get me started on Paul working an angle with me like a pimp or something.”

At that, Till shot him a look of dismay. He dropped his gaze, fiddled with his fork and then his cup, and then looked up again. “I'm sorry.” He seemed deeply stricken and lapsed into silence. 

It took considerable restraint on Alexx's part to wait him out until he spoke again.

“Consent...means a great deal to me.” 

Another near-infinite pause. Alexx stirred his coffee and waited it out.

“I let my need to blow off steam become more important than what you wanted.” He looked up again, a long look from under brooding brows. 

“I've had a lot of time to think it over.” Alexx's lower back was sending warning pains. “I'm not sorry for hitting you,” he grinned. “I'm just sorry I lost my temper.” He had to stand, to move. “Where can I smoke?” 

“The back porch. I try to keep the smoke outside now that my grandson visits.” Till was focusing intently on the floor.

Alexx quashed a look of surprise at that revelation and instead made his way outside, trying and failing not to limp as pain lanced down the back of his leg. His toes burned, tingled, and he shifted all of his weight to lean on the porch railing, hopping awkwardly. “Have you ever noticed that pursuing pain is something you never see in people who are in chronic pain?” He fished a squashed cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.

“Getting punched in the face is a different kind of pain.”

“Yes. It is. Yours happens because you want it, and it has an end.” 

Till raised his eyebrows, but didn't speak.

“I hurt most days, whether I want to or not.” He flicked the ash with more force than he needed and knocked the cherry off into Till's landscaping. Annoyed, he pitched the dead cigarette after it.

Till just reached out a hand and laid it on the curve of Alexx's lower back, the warmth of his palm seeping in. Gently, he rubbed his thumb in slow circles, down one side of Alexx's spine and then the other. “What was with the kiss in the club?”

Alex shrugged. “I kiss all my friends like that. Keeps people on their toes. Except our rhythm guitarist – him I'm just tormenting. I'll stop when he quits acting awkward.”

“It's hard not to be,” Till smiled wryly. “That's a lot more beard than I usually go for.”

“It's true some people do behave in interesting ways when I get in their space.” Alexx scratched his chin with a proud smirk, just to hear the sandpapery sound of it. “You should see the rest of me: it's a goddamn pelt.” He sighed, “I gotta sit down again and put my feet up.” He leaned hard on Till and felt him brace easily under it – Alexx's height and weight were nothing to him. Alexx slung an arm around Till's shoulders, looked down into his eyes and saw something subtle there. He leaned in as if for a kiss and held off when their noses touched, close enough to breathe the same air and nothing more, and felt Till's tension. 

“I'm into women,” Till said. It was defense against something they both knew wasn't the issue.

Alexx leaned back enough to watch the nameless things inside Till reacting to him. “So am I.” Just like before, Till didn't back down, but he didn't defend himself either. Alexx grabbed his chin in a grip so tight he knew it had to hurt, fingers digging in. “But I'm still getting a real kiss this time, just because I can.” He came in close again and Till shivered, gulped in a sudden nervous breath, and got a shake for it. “Breathe with me.” In. Out. Until Till's eyes were half closed and he swayed in against Alexx for support. “Look at me,” Alexx murmured. Till's eyes were glazed and it took him a moment to focus. “You know what I'm waiting for.” Till mulled it over and then pointed dubiously at the porch ceiling. “Good.” Alexx let go of Till's face and watched the white marks from his fingers turn red. Gently, firmly, he took his kiss. 

When they broke apart, Till sank silently down onto his knees and came to rest with his face pressed to the boards between Alexx's feet. It wasn't entirely unexpected. Alexx thought about it for a good, long moment, and then he took a seat on the porch swing and put his feet up on Till's back.


	4. Too Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It appears a continuation was necessary.

The problem was that the bed was long enough and Alexx's back hurt. His feet didn't hang off the end, and taking weight off his spine felt so good that it was suddenly impossible to get up again. “Oh. That's nice." The pain clawing at him eased, and as always it left exhaustion in its wake. "Just for a minute.” 

“Better?”

“Mmph.” Alexx tried to summon the resolve to make words.

Till smiled. “You can stay. There's plenty of room. There's pyjamas in the dresser, if you want them.”

"Shouldn't."

"Why? Is there somewhere you have to be?"

"No."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Mmph."

"Everyone stays here. Quit whining."

Alexx sighed. “Okay.” There was a long pause in which he seemed to have gone to sleep, and then he mumbled, “I gotta put the top up on my car.” He made several aborted attempts to roust himself. “I'm doing it.” He rolled over. “Getting up now." He made a lame effort to get up that resulted in one knee bent and went no further. "Ungh."

“How's about I just do it for you?” Till left Alexx lying there in an undignified sprawl and went outside to put up the top on his roadster. When he came back, Alexx was asleep – curled around a pillow – with his grubby Adidas on the white duvet. Till jimmied the glasses off Alexx's face and put them on the nightstand and turned off the light. 

Around three a.m., as Till sat reading in bed and wishing sleep would come, there were clumsy noises from down the hall - the sound of Alexx pulling his shoes off and letting them thud to the floor; the clunk of his belt buckle following after his shoes. Eventually, he shuffled past Till's open door, cringing in the light on his way to the bathroom. He found the towel and toothbrush set out for him, and splashed around in the sink. 

He paused in Till's doorway, minty and damp, on the way back. The loaner pyjamas were too long even for him - a testament to the supreme height of Till's regular house guests. “Um.” Alexx cleared his throat self-consciously. “Sorry I crashed out on you. Thanks for letting me stay. The guest room is really nice…” He waved his hand awkwardly in the direction of his room and shuffled off down the hall again.

Till gave him about ninety seconds and then bounded out of bed, sending a few stray books thudding to the floor. He paused in the hall, standing in the pool of light streaming from his own room, listening to the faint rustle of Alexx settling under the covers, and then shucked off everything but his underwear and padded after him. 

The guest room door stood half open, and there was just enough faint light from the moon to let him see dark shadows in the bed against the blackness. Till summoned every ounce of nerve he had and said, “May I join you?”

Alexx sat up, shifting the shadows. "The balls on you!" There was a long pause while he took the notion in. “Fine." Alexx hitched a breath. "Get in.” 

Till tried to be graceful, slammed his shin against the bed frame in the dark, and slid in, rubbing his smarting leg. 

"What... uh, what exactly was it that you were planning on?"

“I wasn't _planning_ anything.” Till swallowed thickly and felt it was too loud in the silence. So was his breathing. 

Alexx fumbled at him in the dark, feeling out how much space was between them. “Okay,” he said, finally. “I need to know what you want from me. With me.” He yawned hugely. “Before I fall asleep again would be good.” 

It was harder to admit than most things he wanted. "I want to sleep with you. Next to you."

"Like…what." Alexx lowered his voice, "Cuddling? Are you fucking serious?"

Even in the darkness Till dropped his gaze. Then he mumbled, "Well, I mean..."

"No kissing." Alexx pulled Till close the way he would pull a lover in, with Till's heavy arm and leg draped over him and Till's soft hair tickling his neck. "No groping." He trailed one hand through Till's long fringe, knotted a fistful of hair and gave it a slow, firm tug as if testing to make sure he was free to hurt Till however he wanted. He got a satisfied moan in response and quickly let go.

Till let his eyes adjust to the darkness, until the blurred shadows turned into more familiar shapes. He rubbed his cheek against Alexx's tee shirt and took a deep sniff of cologne and cigarettes. The sleep that had evaded him took him out in the space of a few minutes.

He woke at dawn to find they had moved in the night and he was too warm. Alexx was using him as a bolster. Till flipped his pillow to the cool side and the arm around him spasmed tight. Till eased a foot out from below the covers to cool himself down a little. Alexx stirred and deftly hooked Till's foot with his own and clamped it between his ankles. Trapped, Till stared out the window at the gray light growing in the garden and tried to will himself back to sleep. It was useless. He had to piss, and now that he was thinking about it the issue was rapidly worsening. 

He looked at the bedside clock. Two hours. Two measly hours of sleep that were just enough to leave him feeling jangled and shaky, and Alexx was wrapped around him like a straight jacket, which was more than he could have ever hoped for. In other circumstances, the constriction was something he'd have paid for - he'd always liked being put to bed tied up. 

Nothing good ever lasted long enough. Like picking a scab, he did it in one smooth pull - up and out - and behind him there was a sleepy grumble that tugged at something nameless in his chest.

Assuming that Alexx would be awake and fleeing the scene, Till mustered the nerve to return to bed and instead found him burrowing deeper under the covers, away from the growing light. Till dropped the shades and dared to creep in again behind him. Alexx reached for him, caught at Till's arm and yanked him tight against his back, let out a sigh of contentment. The nameless thing seemed to swell and burst into a sweet flood of sensations that soothed his nerves. He hooked Alexx's foot with his own and trapped it between his ankles. 

 

\--

 

Alexx seemed even more real in the morning sunshine. The light caught in his dark eyes and turned them bronze as he looked up at Till from his gangly sprawl in a kitchen chair. Stubble ringed the sides of his head, unshaven, and the silver in his beard caught the light. The robe he'd borrowed from Till was too big and bagged open, revealing thick hair and the knobbly bumps of his ribs and, further down, the swell of love-handles. His borrowed pyjamas half-covered his lean bare feet. 

Till silently handed him a cup of coffee and when he reached out to take it, caught his hand and admired the long, tan fingers and the scabs and scars on the knuckles. Mechanic's hands. Till brushed a thumb across Alexx's palm, feeling the oil-stained calluses and getting a twitch at the tickle. It was promising, so he traced the lifeline and elicited an intriguing shiver. 

Alexx watched him watching and gently disengaged. 

Till looked away, suddenly shy, and then back. Searching.

The eyebrow went up, as it usually did, and Alexx ran his hand over his head and diverted Till's scrutiny. “See? I really am bald. It's not just a fashion statement.” He quirked a smile that had a hint of regret and tweaked the long comma of hair hanging over Till's eye and then slurped his coffee.

Till put a hand out and felt the change from velvet nap to smooth skin, watched the pupils dilate at the sensation even as Alexx grimaced at the over-familiarity of his touch, then he ran the backs of his fingers over a week's worth of beard. Alexx shot him an unreadable look as he dared to caress the smooth curve of the skull again. It felt good under his hand. “I...” his voice cracked and betrayed his eagerness. “Um. May I kiss you?”

He saw a spark of interest in the dark eyes and pressed in, bracing himself on Alexx's chair. Alexx let him in, let him flick his tongue along the roof of his mouth, let him taste the line of sharp white teeth. The beard wasn't terrible. Till pulled back, thinking how he felt about it. He trailed his finger over a soft eyebrow. Then down the long, strong angle of the nose. Brushed his thumb over plush lips. Till seized the opportunity and moved to straddle Alexx's lap. The chair creaked under the strain, and Till put a hand around the back of Alexx's neck to hold him there and kissed him again, bit his chin and listened to the amused grunt, mouthed his jaw, and then pulled back and said, “You're hairy."

“So are you.” Alexx raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I've messed around with other men before.” Till said it shyly. “But they've all been, you know, smooth. Pretty.”

“Oh, and I'm not?” Alexx let out a chuff of awkward laughter.

“No. You're not.” Till gave Alexx a long searching look. "And neither am I." His eyes were pale in his bland, pitted face. Lines crossed deep across his forehead and under his eyes. His hair was dyed too dark, and there was a line of silver at the roots. He ran his hand down Alexx's hairy chest as if he were exploring something new.

“Now you know how the women you've fucked feel when they're complaining about carpet burn...or do you?” Alexx quipped.

“I've been fucked. Plenty of times. I know what it feels like.”

“Oh, really?”

“There's a lot of fun to be had with a certain kind of woman and a strap on harness.” Till grinned hugely.

“Yowza! That... is not a place I've had visitors.” Alexx leaned back as far as the chair would let him to keep Till at bay. “And I shave for no-one.” He gave his cheek a fond rub. “There's usually not this much, for sure. But there's always something to strain the soup.”

Till contemplatively palmed Alexx's jaw. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“What are you serving?”

“Eggs. Crepes. Sausage rolls.” Till dared to grab Alexx's hand and put it on his ass. “Me. Whatever you want.”

Alexx froze for a moment, and then shook it off by giving Till a hard, dismissive slap. "Eggs. Sausage. Brötchen. Couple more pots of coffee." He made it a command, and noted that Till's eyes darkened in response. Whatever demon was riding him jolted one last thing out his mouth. "But first, get on your knees and blow me." It seemed to slip out against his intentions and he gaped in horror and shock even as Till slithered down onto his knees and pulled the bathrobe open and palmed his crotch. "Oh, God! Fucking…Stop!"

Till stopped. He sat on the floor and hooked his arms around his knees and looked up at Alexx with a deeply patient expression.

“I've never…not with a man,” Alexx blurted out. He scrubbed his hands over his face and heaved a few desperate gulps of air. 

"You sure kiss a lot of men to say that."

"Dogs hump each other all the time. Doesn't mean they fuck." He flailed at Till with his free hand as if to keep him away. Till was turning out to be a master at taking Alexx past his limits. "Slow down." He tried to collect himself. "Just…slow down."

All of Till's eager cravings seemed to vanish - quickly packed away and contained - replaced with watchful neutrality.

“There's something there. I'm not denying that.” Alexx let out a ragged sigh. “I just don't know what it is.” 

Till got up and clanked around for a skillet. "I'm sure it'll sort itself out." He pulled eggs and sausages out of the fridge and refilled Alexx's coffee cup. 

After a dreadfully long silence Alexx mumbled, "Are you. Um. Are you offended/ Is this a dead end/ I thought it could be splendid/ Now I'm worried that it's ended." 

Spatula in hand, Till turned from his place at the stove in total surprise. "Where the hell did that come from?" They stared at each other for a moment, then one of the sausages split with a loud pop and sizzle and broke the tension.

Sheepish, Alexx scratched viciously at the back of his neck, digging his blunt nails in until he left red stripes. "I, uh, I rhyme shit when I'm nervous." He drummed his fingers on the table and looked everywhere except at Till. "It's…compulsive. Convulsive. Impulsive." 

Till went to the pegs by the back door and took his favourite hunting hat down. He brushed a bit of leaf off the bill and then jammed it down on Alexx's head. "You don't have to worry about doing dirty things with me. Or about being yourself. I won't use it against you later."

"Is that cammo print?" Alexx tried to look up at it. "Did you put a hat on me to make me feel comfortable?"

"Do you feel different in a hat? Because you act different in one."

"Fuck you, man." He didn't deny it.

"Topping can be like putting on a hat. You let out all that pent up energy and pour it into someone and exchange it for the the armour they use to protect themselves. It's a persona you can put on for a little while and then take off again. Or it's just a hat. Whatever." Till gave the back of Alexx's neck a gentle, massaging squeeze and then went back to his place at the stove.

 

\--

 

Alexx left that afternoon. He put the top down while Till watched, and zipped his leather jacket all the way up. "Gonna be a nippy drive."

"You're hung aren't you." Till scuffed at a molehill with the toe of his boot. "I'm not."

One black eyebrow winged up again in surprise at the abrupt subject change. Alexx diverted his attention to carefully wiping a non-existent speck of dust off the perfect finish of his 370Z before giving Till a curious look.

"You make me feel small. Not many people are big enough to make me feel like I'm not taking up too much space. Sometimes I feel like they expect me to be bigger than life in every possible way all the time."

“Attitude." Alexx still stood with his feet planted wide, shoulders broad in his moto jacket. Even without trying to be imposing, he still loomed over Till. "Do you want to feel small?"

"I want to abdicate for a little while. I want to let someone else be in charge of forcing me to do things I'm too afraid or ashamed or lazy to do on my own."

The weight of that confession was too much. Alexx regarded him in silence for a painfully long time, thinking, before he said, "What does the other person get out of that?"

"Trust. Adoration. A partner who will try things that most other people might reject out of hand." 

Alexx tilted his head to the side, contemplating. Whatever his conclusion, he kept his thoughts to himself and instead stepped in too close, chest to chest, and stared down into Till's eyes. Till stared back, watching the unreadable, earnest dark gaze searching for something inside him. 

It was uncomfortable enough that something had to be done about it, so Till backed him up against the driver's side door. “I want...I hope I see you again.” A smile playing around his mouth, he said, with obvious relish to the filthy humour of it: "What would you do if I said give me thirty centimetres and make it hurt?"

Alexx let out a rumble of laughter and broke the spell with the punchline: "I'd fuck you three times and hit you with a brick." He fumbled for the door handle and popped it. 

Till backed off, his needy expression vanishing behind a practised, unreadable mask. 

"I'm going. Doesn't mean I won't be back." Alexx folded himself into the driver's seat and started the car and gave Till a long, measured look. "I mean it. Me and my ten centimetres."


	5. Too Cold

Alexx showed up again in the autumn.

Till glimpsed him on the doorstep taking a last drag before dumping his butt in a can Till kept hidden behind a potted plant. He straightened up as Till opened the door.

Without a word, Till kissed him — open mouthed and eager. Pulling at Alexx’s shirt, he undid buttons and ran a bold hand over his chest and down to yank at his belt. 

“Whoa!” Alexx skittered out of reach, collected his shirt tails and stuffed them into his waistband in a parody of modesty. “Could we try 'Hello, please come in', or perhaps 'Hi, I'm horny'?”

Till backed up and let him in. Then he dropped down on his knees, and dared to put a reverent hand on one large, dusty Adidas. Up close he could see that one of the trademark white stripes was starting to give out at the seam. He dared to run his hand up Alexx's inseam only to get his hand slapped away, and then the unmistakeable sound of a belt slipping free of its loops interrupted the moment and Alexx bent down and grabbed him by the hair. Silent, he hauled Till into the kitchen, bent him over his own table, and beat him across the ass and thighs. The crack of the belt was thunderous in the bread-scented peace of Till's kitchen,with its dust motes dancing in beams of light streaming in from the porch. And even Till, accustomed to pain, was reduced to yelping at the sheer force of the striping he got and gripping the edges of the table until his knuckles went white. 

Too soon, Alexx put his belt back on while Till stayed sprawled across the table, trying not to let his knees give out.

“Stand up.”

Trembling, Till stood. The adrenaline rush, the surprise, the pain, the endorphins, the fact that it was already non-negotiably over: it was all quite shocking. He felt like he was floating, and warm contentment was spreading through his middle. 

“I am not a dominatrix. I'm not a pretty little blonde girl with beach balls on her chest who sucks your cock because you pay her bills. And I'm not fucking gay.” Alexx slid his belt buckle back to center and blatantly adjusted himself. “Don't fucking jump me like I owe you something.” He stepped in, threaded his big hand through Till's hair and pressed their foreheads together for a moment. “Bring me a whiskey, will you?” He shuffled into the living room and switched on a football match.

Till slipped into his bedroom, dropped his trousers, and gingerly ran his fingers over the belt marks. They were some of the hardest hits he'd ever taken and certainly weren't the sort he'd have gotten from a professional. Alexx hadn't bothered to center his hits or worry about where they landed. He had simply put in some nasty, spontaneous whacks that left Till instantly bruised. They were proof that Alexx had never belted anyone before – he'd only done it because Till had asked. 

He'd have trouble sitting comfortably for days. 

Till stroked the hot, swollen stripes and cracked a delighted grin at himself in the mirror. 

Whiskey was presented with a firm hand and a spring in the step. Which was good, because Alexx was twitchy enough to rattle the ice. Till let him claim the entire sofa and sat down on the floor at his feet, relishing the pain it caused, and waited. Alexx drained it in one go and said, "Was that what you wanted?"

Till dared to rest his head against Alexx's knee. "Yes. Thank you."

"I knew you'd push me. I knew I'd get a rush out of hitting you — I knew it. So why do I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach?" He shook his empty glass at Till. "I think I need the bottle."

"I'll bring you the bottle if you promise not to leave drunk."

Alexx wilted a little. "'kay." When Till came back he poured a double and Alexx sank it, grabbed the bottle, and poured another. He slouched down, spreading his knees and cradling the glass between them. Eventually, he mumbled, "You okay?"

Till grinned. “I feel fantastic. You're the one who's out of your comfort zone. That _was_ my comfort zone.” 

"Hmm."

“You took all my tension away, and now it's in you. Thanks for trying it." He dared to reach out and take Alexx's hand, ran his thumb over the fingers. 

Alexx pulled away. "I got a rush out of that. What kind of person enjoys hurting other people?" He shivered.

"You didn't hurt me." Till didn't touch him again. "You gave me what I wanted and I'm grateful." He left Alexx to think it over and went off to set out towels in the guest bathroom and, out of a perverse sense of optimism, pulled a trunk of specialty items out from under his bed and unlocked it for easy access later.

When he came back, Alexx was at the kitchen sink chugging a glass of water. The sheer size of him, all broad shoulders and slim hips in a lean, black-clad silhouette, was compelling.

“I want to eat you out until my jaw aches.” 

Alexx choked, "WHAT!," and dropped the glass into the sink to shatter, and was lost in a fit of coughs and splutters. Till pushed him aside to clean up. "Christ! Sorry."

"It's just a glass. Go smoke." Till picked the pieces out and dropped them in the trash and then wiped up the needle-sharp slivers with a damp paper towel. Then he saw it — a single, curving shard he'd missed — hiding in the white porcelain corner of the sink. He picked it up, pleased by the shape. It had a couple of Alexx's smudgy fingerprints on it. Till turned, saw Alexx wandering around on the lawn in agitation, smoking, and took the opportunity of being alone to rip a long, deep gouge next to the other faded, pink and silver scars on his upper arm. It had been years since he'd felt like adding to the collection there, but the fondness he felt was suddenly overwhelming and he wanted to remember things as they were, before it all went to hell as it so surely would. He rinsed the shard and tossed it in the trash. There was a dirty black button-down on the hook by the back door and he pulled it on to hide the mess. The fresh cut lent him a delicious tingling sensation — a deep, warm itch that amplified the satisfaction from his earlier thrashing.

He padded out onto the porch. "Feel better?"

Alexx was inspecting an oak tree. "I would never have imagined that you have a tire hanging from a tree in your back garden. But here it is."

"Children seem to like it." 

Alexx gave the rope a couple of tugs, as if pondering trying the swing, and then let it alone and turned to face Till. "Why me?" He ambled back to the porch to stub out his cigarette, and immediately lit another.

Till folded his arms and leaned back against the wall of the house. "Do you ever daydream about tying people up or pinning them down? Do you ever want to make people squirm?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable when you stand too close or flirt with them?" 

Alexx didn't reply. They both knew the answer.

"Your guitarist. I forgot his name. You pick on him. Why?"

The guarded expression morphed into a fond smile. "Who, Jürgen? Is that what you think that is?"

" _Is_ that what it is?"

"I get in close and he giggles like a teenaged girl and ducks away. It kills me every time. I kiss him on stage and he flails his arms and he gets this worried look on his face and… it's fun."

" _Why_ is it fun?" Till pushed off and stepped in close. Too close. "Do you really want him to run away?"

Alexx's expression went from amused to heated in a heartbeat. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he seized Till, huge hands clamping down hard around Till's biceps, and shoved him back. "You like this?" 

"Yes." Ash dropped unheeded onto Till's shirt and he held Alexx's dark glare in silence. If Alexx wanted him to look away, to giggle or struggle, it wasn't going to happen.

"Why do you keep pushing me?" Alexx shook him, slammed him against the side of the house a couple times for good measure.

"Because it's fun." Till quirked a smile. "Because I trust you with me." Alexx let go in exasperation and took a final drag off his cigarette. Till surreptitiously adjusted his shirt sleeve. "Make yourself at home. There's weed in the box on my desk," he gestured in the general direction of his study. "We could probably use it."

He was upstairs in the bathroom, shirt off, taping gauze down, when Alexx came up behind him. "You have a lot of books. I wasn't expecting weed _and_ wall-to-wall books."

"Thousands. I collect out-of-print poetry."

"I noticed." There was a freshly rolled joint tucked behind Alexx's ear. "Is there something you want to tell me about why you're bleeding?" 

"Nope. You gonna light that thing?" He tossed the dirty shirt in the hamper and went to his bedroom for another. 

"I'm going to stop feeling guilty for hitting you in about three tokes, and then I'll beat it out of you. If I don't fall asleep first." Alexx followed him, took the first hit, and handed the joint over. "So talk."

"I told you I like pain. It feels good sometimes. You just let out what you're feeling and you move on. Sometimes I want to remember something, I want to wear it on my skin, and I'm not a tattoo kind of person." Till shrugged and pulled on a clean t-shirt.

Alexx took the joint back. "So," he croaked, trying to hold in a drag, "Explain the trunk here." He nudged it with his foot. "Is it full of what I think it's full of?"

"Fuzzy pink handcuffs," Till deadpanned. 

There was a pause and then they both snickered. Till opened the trunk and watched the reactions crossing Alexx's face. "This shit has got to hurt."

"Some of it immensely so." There was a thin, synthetic cane in there that could make him cry, but he wasn't about to admit it just yet.

"I don't even know what all this stuff _is_." Alexx sat heavily on the bed. "Are you expecting me to…use all this…like… _on_ you?" By the next drag, he was flat on his back.

Till found an ashtray, balanced it on Alexx's chest, and flicked in it. "No. I don't expect anything. I don't know what-all I even want yet. I don't know what you're comfortable with."

"So…"

"So we can talk about it if you want, or we can smoke this joint, or watch TV, or I can suck your dick, or rub your feet, or feed you cake, or whatever the fuck else you want." 

Alexx turned his head to look at Till. "All these choices are overwhelming." 

Till stubbed out the roach and took away the ashtray before Alexx spilled it. "Yeah?"

"I, um, I went on the internet."

"You shouldn't do that."

"I googled BDSM."

"You _really_ shouldn't do that. Bad information from self-professed experts."

"What's 'topping from the bottom'?"

"It's what I'm doing when I manipulate you into hitting me. The belting… the shoving…"

"That's not cool."

"So, make me stop." Till chuckled. "If you keep punishing me, I'll keep trying for more."

"Oh, Christ. Why _me_?"

"Did you ever like the idea of caring for someone?" He pulled Alexx's shoes off. "Scoot up. Up. All of you on the bed." He peeled the socks off and ran his fingers over the top of Alexx's bare foot. "Or would you like to mess around with someone who gets off on pleasing you?" 

"Well now that you're bringing it up I guess I have to figure that out. Are you rubbing my foot?"

"How does it feel?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?" 

Till stroked his thumb up under Alexx's arch. "Does it feel good?"

"Fuck, yes. I can't remember the last time someone did that to me."

"I'm doing it _for_ you. Because it makes you feel good." 

Alexx seemed to have closed his eyes, but a closer look showed he was watching Till through his eyelashes.

"I crave pleasing my lovers. I used to scare them away because I didn't understand it and I couldn't define it." Till pulled Alexx's other foot into his lap and curved his hand around it to keep it warm. "Everyone comes with buttons, okay? Some are the stock kit and everyone has 'em, and others are custom. If you want those custom buttons pushed, you have to find somebody who wants to push them. And knows how. And you have to be honest about it." 

Alexx propped himself up on his elbows. 

"I may not be interested in pushing all of yours. I don't know what they are yet. But I'll never tell anyone about them or shame you."

One eyebrow went up in a silent prompt for more.

"I don't do shit. Or animals. Or rape fantasies. Or diapers. Or puke."

"Diapers?" 

"Nevermind."

Alexx flopped down again. "I'm stoned." He mulled it over and then said, "Puke? _Really?_ " 

"Whatever it is, someone somewhere gets turned on by it." Till bent down, fastened his mouth over Alexx's ankle bone, and sucked until Alexx let out a groan of delight. Then he began rubbing the other foot.

"Are you trying to say you're into feet?" Alexx stretched his legs and pushed both feet deeper into Till's lap.

"It's not a fetish, if that's what you're aiming at." Till smiled. "Though yours are very nice." He stroked his fingers up the back of Alexx's leg. Prompting, he said, "Sometimes I'm too ashamed to say what I want, and then disappointed that no one can guess."

Alexx couldn't seem to keep his eyes open any longer. He was silent until Till began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. "I want you to rub my back and jerk me off and curl up with me," he said, suddenly, as if he had to get it out fast or not at all. "Fucking keep touching me like that. Everywhere. That's what I want. I want to just…lie back and enjoy it and feel good after."

"I'd love to."

— 

Sprawled in Till's cool white sheets, smoking another joint and unable to summon the desire to move at all, Alexx watched as Till opened the shades. The sun was setting and the bedroom was flooded with orange light.

"How do I keep finding myself in bed during the day in your house?" They hadn't gotten out of bed all afternoon.

"Some part of you clearly wants to be here." Till relieved him of the joint and finished it with a hard drag. He rolled Alexx over and slid warm, competent hands down his back. He dug under one shoulder blade with his thumb, pulling at a knot. "You hungry?"

"I'm getting the munchies," Alexx mumbled. His skin was golden against the sheets, and the charcoal smudge of eyelashes against his cheek gave Till a sudden, fresh shock of desire. "I'm so wrecked." The dark eyes slitted open, Alexx looked at him warily for a moment as if afraid of being mocked, and then he murmured, "Stay with me like this for a while." He curled onto his side.

Till pressed up against him. "I _needed_ this." He tried to smell Alexx's skin without being obvious.

"Mmm." Alexx seemed to nod off for a moment, then admitted sleepily, "Sometimes I get into bed with Pix. Just to feel this."

"You love him?"

"I'm in bed with _you_."

"And? I love my girlfriend." Till adjusted one of the pillows. "I um. I also love Richard." He hesitated. "I don't think I've ever really said that out loud before."

"The pudgy guitarist?"

Till muffled a laugh against Alexx's shoulder. "Yes, and you had _two_ pudgy guitarists the last time I checked. What's your point?"

"I don't have one. I just know one of my guitarists kinda wants a piece of one of yours."

"Well, he's welcome to try. Richard's mean when he's cornered, though." Till smoothed his hand down Alexx's side.

"Do you two mess around?"

"Sorta."

"What's 'sorta'?"

"Whatever we fall into once in a while when we feel like it. He likes women. I like women."

"So do I. But here we are."

" _That_ was my point." He ran his hand up and down Alexx's arm as if the motion could soothe the discomfort of having to talk about it.

"Couldn't see your way to clarifying it, could you?"

"I'm straight. Occasionally I like men. I'm not built for monogamy."

"Hmm."

"And everyone is hiding something they think is abnormal. It's normal to be abnormal." Till let out a heavy, hitching sort of sigh. "Wish I'd known that thirty years ago. Maybe I'd have been able to stop hurting myself and everyone else."

"What do you mean by 'hurt'?"

"I punish people for leaving before they even leave me. I shut people out — I don't want them to see the things I'm ashamed of. Don't want to get my heart broken. Then I get angry that they don't really know me…by then they _want_ to leave." He didn't say anything else for a while and Alexx dozed as the room darkened. Eventually, Till trailed his fingertips over Alexx's scalp until he elicited a full-body shiver of pleasure, and said, low and quiet, "I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine, But oh, he lives in the Moony light. I thought to find Love in the heat of day, but sweet Love is the Comforter of Night."

"What was that?" Alexx yawned and stretched luxuriously.

"William Blake. Love isn't what I thought it would be and I haven't found it where I thought I was supposed to. I'm trying to take it as I find it now." He slid his arm around Alexx's waist. "Anyway, who would you be if you paused your career to spend every day with me? It's like caging a bird. You'd change. You wouldn't be the _you_ I'm smitten with anymore."

"I'm impressed with the poetry." Alexx said into the pillow. "But people change. Everything changes. You alter your subject by observing it." 

"The people I love have their own lives. And I'm a nicer person when someone else ties me up and hits me until I stop sulking. I'm a failure at monogamy." He pulled Alexx onto his back and leaned in to kiss him. "I'm just going to enjoy whatever time you spend with me, however we spend it. 'He who binds to himself a joy does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity's sunrise.'"

"If you love someone, set them free," Alexx paraphrased. He pushed the hair out of Till's eyes. "How did you end up here? Being this. Instead of being a literature professor or a dungeon master or something?"

Till shuddered and seemed to retreat into himself before he finally managed to say, "Bad fucking luck, I guess." He abruptly got up and pulled on a pair of trousers. "Gonna go get something to eat. You want anything?"

Alexx lunged at Till, caught him, and yanked him back down into the bed. "Talk to me."

"About what?"

Alexx gave him a couple of hard slaps across the ass, making sure to hit the bruises he'd left earlier. "We went from pillow talk to you bailing on me. What did I say?" 

Till pulled free, watched Alexx wringing his hand, and said with gentle amusement, "You should keep your fingers together when you spank. Otherwise you'll hurt yourself."

"You want to piss and moan about shutting your lovers out until they leave? Stop doing it." Alexx cradled his throbbing fingers. 

"It's not that simple." There was a miserable sigh from somewhere deep inside before Till said, "My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps: get into academics, write a book, poems…" He wouldn't look at Alexx. "What I wrote wasn't very good, and I made him angry when I went to sports school. No academics for me." He found his shirt mixed in with the bedding and put it on. "You coming?" He tossed Alexx his clothes. Alexx clamped a bruising hand around his wrist until he added, in a quiet voice, "My father said I stole his talent." He made a helpless gesture. "I never made good use of it."

"Jesus."

"And that's how I ended up..." he trailed off and shrugged. "…I'm a shitty poet. I don't want to talk about it."

"Hey. Hey, c'mere." Alexx towed him over to the open trunk. He rummaged around and pulled out a well-worn pair of leather cuffs. He waggled them at Till. "You're going to feed me. But you're wearing these, and you talk to me, and you don't push me away." He fumbled with the buckles. "That's okay with you, right? Is that what you need from me?"

Till held his wrists out. "It's a good start."

"I'm catching on. Am I supposed to pick a safeword? Is that how this works?"

"Mine's 'cabbage'," said Till promptly. He gave Alexx a self-deprecating smile.

"Oh."

"What's yours?"

"Mine?"

"You're the one who's more likely to use it."

"Pix." He said the first safe thing that leaped to mind. "Why can't I just use 'cabbage' too?"

"You can." Till buckled one of the cuffs on himself. "I just wanted to know what you'd say." He grabbed Alexx's hand and led him downstairs.


End file.
